Age of War
by Schizo Mania
Summary: A collection of one-shots based on the latest three Total War games.
1. Against all odds

Yo.

Yea, so this is going to be a collection of one shots from Medieval: Total war, Empire: Total War and Napoleon: Total War.

Anyway, this first one is from Napoleon: Total War. I got the idea to write it after watching my friend's horribly outnumbered army destroy and rout a superior AI controlled Batavian Republic force. Enjoy!

Battle of Cleves-Mark

Private Fredrich Neitzen marched alongside his companions at a steady pace near the Prussian city of Cleves-Mark. It was 1806, and the Napoleonic wars were in full swing. However ,the army that was currently attacking Cleves-Mark was not French, but their Dutch allies of the Batavian Republic. At first, it looked as if the 600 plus strong Prussian garrison would easily repel or crush the single infantry regiment the Dutch had sent.

However, they had failed to see the 1200 strong army that was reinforcing the Dutch regiment, staying a fair distance behind so the Prussian scouting party did not spot them. It looked hopeless for the Prussians, they were outnumbered nearly 2 to 1. However, the Prussian General was adamant in staying and fighting, "Any man caught deserting," He had said. "Shall be executed." His intention was clear. They would either repel the Dutch, or die trying.

The Prussians had their orders, and truthfully, most of them thought that the General was mad. The Dutch army massively outnumbered them. However, as much as they doubted the sanity of their leader, they were also unwilling to let even an inch of their land fall into enemy hands. Nietzen's regiment, the 111th Infantry, was ordered to garrison a farmhouse on the outskirts of the city, along with the 70th Jäger regiment, the Prussians' only light infantry unit.

A lone artillery brigade that sat atop a hill, just off to the right of the farmhouse, had a perfect view of the battlefield. They were protected by two light cavalry units, one of them being a Russian unit that had just so happened to be passing by. The other three infantry units of the army were positioned towards the read, acting as a quick reaction force should the Dutch strike from the west rather than the east. The General positioned himself and his personal guard, the 1st Dragoons at the western flank to act as a forward watch.

Now that they were in position, they had to do the hardest part of the battleplan: Wait. Wilhelm Schütz had 'acquired' a naval telescope, usually used for spotting enemy ships at a distance. The artillery brigade commander had repurposed it to suit his needs. Peering through the scope, he scanned the area for any viable targets. He licked his lips as he focused on the small narrow path between two small ridges the Dutch would supposedly come from.

Another advantage of their position: A single well-placed shot could easily wipe out scores of men if they emerged from the small valley. He scanned the area in a left to right manner, slowly running his eye over every tree, every rock, every detail. Suddenly, he snapped back to the valley as he caught a glimpse of a horse. "Target sighted, make ready!" He shouted to his men and pointed to the general direction of the enemy. The men quickly got their guns ready, loading them and turning them to face the specified direction.

Schütz kept his eye on the enemy horsemen. Thankfully, there were no obstructions for them to hide behind, the battlefield being mainly flatlands. He approximated the distance, trying to be as accurate as possible. He wanted his shots to count. He waited till the horsemen cleared a small forest before ordering, "200 meters, fire!" The gun crews quickly did a final adjustment to the elevation of their cannons and fired.

Three booms rang out, and three cannonballs flew towards the enemy cavalrymen. Two of them found targets, smashing into the horsemen and throwing them off their steeds. The third fell short and crashed into the ground directly in front of the leading horse before bouncing up and crashing into a horse in the underbelly, smashing bones and rupturing organs. The animal went down, bring it's rider along with it and crushing the unfortunate man with it's dead weight. The rest of the horsemen decided not to continue and risk being annihilated by artillery fire and hastily retreated.

Schütz smiled as he saw the horses turn-tail and retreat. They were far from routing, but at least it was a small victory.

However, for the infantry, the sound of cannon fire was a bad sign. "Nietzen, Dieter, head downstairs. The Jägers are taking the top floors." The commander of the 111th infantry ordered. The infantrymen were filing down the stairs, where they were more useful in guarding the entrances to the building while the Jägers headed upstairs, putting their sniping prowess to good use.

"Yes sir," The two replied, acknowledging the order and followed the rest of their unit downstairs. The gripped their muskets tightly as they took positions at a square window. Nietzen and Dieter were at the right and left side of the window respectively, with one more soldier, a Ludwig Kessler in the center. They would take turns firing, allowing each other time to reload so that there would at least be one person firing at any time.

After receiving news that the Dutch were attacking from the east, the quick reaction force rushed to reinforce the eastern flank, in particular to protect the cannons.

"Fire!" Schütz shouted and the cannons roared once again. Ever since they opened fire on the enemy cavalry, they had been firing non-stop. The enemy infantrymen almost seemed eager to feed the trigger-happy sergeant's cannons, and he was happy to oblige, as long as he had enough cannonballs and gunpowder.

The Jägers crouched low beneath the windows, determined to remain hidden and out of sight for as long as possible, relying on the regular infantrymen at the lower levels to give them the cue to open fire. "Enemy line infantry, 100 meters," One of the line infantrymen called out. The commander of the 77th light infantry nodded.

"You heard him, ready up." He said in a hushed tone to his men. The Jägers stood up with slow and deliberate movements so as to not arouse enemy suspicion. They poked their muskets out of the windows and any opening there was. Unlike standard line infantry, which used massed musket fire without aiming to break the enemy, the Jägers selected and picked off their targets with deadly accuracy.

Their shots rang out one by one as the Jägers killed off their targets. The first three shots killed the unit commander, trumpeter and an unfortunate soldier fatally. That caused confusion among the ranks of the enemy regiment. Quickly, the Jägers placed the buttstock of their flintlock muskets between their feet. They removed a paper cartridge containing gunpowder from their pockets, tore them open with their teeth and poured it's contents down the barrel, followed by a ball bearing, and two quick thrusts of a ramrod to ensure the projectile was secure. They removed the ramrods and took aim once more.

All that happened in thirty seconds. In that time, three more Dutch infantry regiments moved up to reinforce the first, but they had made the wrong assumption that only Jägers were inhabiting the farmhouse and thus walked straight into the line of fire of the 111th and one of the three regiments of the quick reaction force, the 130th Infantry regiment. Musket fire rained down upon the Dutch from both the front and right flank, killing scores of men. Nietzen discharged his gun and immediately got to work reloading it. As a standard infantryman, whether his shot hit something or not was not his concern.

As he reloaded, Dieter opened fire and similarly got to work reloading, allowing Kessler to open fire. By that time, Nietzen had reloaded and was ready to fire, thus allowing for a constant stream of bullets from their window. This was the same for every available window on the first and second floors of the building, with some windows having more men than others.

The Dutch units took heavy losses and one of them decided that they had enough. Already they had lost more than half their number, so they broke ranks and fled, only to be shot in the back by the Prussians. The cannons fired again, using canister shots this time. The deadly giant shotgun shot wiped out a huge chunk of a Dutch regiment that got too close for comfort.

However, the Dutch had gotten wind of their failed offensive and before long, the bulk of their army, six infantry regiments numbering 120 men each advanced towards the Prussians, with most of them converging on the artillery brigade. Despite the seemingly grim circumstances, Schültz continued leading his unit, seemingly oblivious to the impending danger.

However, Vasily Vladikov, in charge of the Russian 32nd light cavalry regiment that was caught up in the battle, knew that without help, the cannons would be lost and essentially the battle as well. He moved to the front of his regiment and reared his horse while drawing his saber. "Charge, men! Charge!" He yelled at the top of his lungs, and along with the rest of his unit, charged headlong into the nearest Dutch infantry regiment.

The Batavian regiment had no time to react, no time to bring their bayonet-fixed muskets to bear on the horsemen. The Russians crashed into the Dutch formation from the side, trampling some of the Dutch soldiers to death while others were viciously attacked by the sabers of the cavalrymen. Some of the Dutch managed to react fast enough to fight back, stabbing and slashing with their improvised spears. Five of Vasily's men went down, but a third of the Dutch infantry regiment had been wiped out.

Light cavalry were never meant for an extended melee fight, so after a few minutes of combat, Vladikov gave the order to break off contact. The cavalrymen immediately stopped their assault and retreated back to the relative safety behind the three lines of infantry. At the same time, another light cavalry unit led by an Otto Holzer, charged into another Dutch infantry regiment.

"Give them our thanks, boys!" Schütz bellowed, a faint smile on his face. The men of his brigade were not at all shaken, despite having just had such a close brush with death. They calmly loaded the cannons and turned their guns to face a lone advancing Dutch regiment. The men lit the fuse and covered their ears as another canister shot tore into the enemy.

"Ha ha!" Dieter crowed as he saw scores of Dutchmen fall. "We'll wipe them out at this rate!" He cried out happily as he opened fire. Suddenly, as if to counter his cheer, a single bullet penetrated the thin wooden walls of the farmhouse and struck him in the shin. He collapsed with a shout, clutching his wounded limb.

"Fuck!" Nietzen swore, both in surprise and anger. He immediately crouched low over his friend to examine the wound. He was no medic, but he at least knew enough medical knowledge to roughly tell whether it was serious wound or not. "It's bad," He said. The bullet nearly shattered his friend's bone, but he was still bleeding heavily. "You need help, fast."

Dieter was too weak to object from the blood loss and allowed you other musketeers to carry him out of the building to the rear, where he could be treated by a professional physician. Nietzen cringed, stood up and readied his rifle, all thoughts of Dieter temporarily banished from his mind, focusing on the battle. Just as Kessler prepared to fire, a hail of bullets slammed into the farmhouse at an angle from the west. One of the projectiles struck Kessler fatally in the head. Almost immediately after he went down, another infantryman took his place. Nietzen didn't allow the death of his comrade rattle him. He was already used to it.

Shots rang out one by one as the Jägers struggled to suppress the enemy, but the Dutch were shooting at an angle where the Prussians couldn't bring all their guns to bear on them so they had the freedom to fire as they pleased while the Prussians couldn't return fire effectively. Another hail of bullets impacted on the building, killing several more men.

From the hilltop, Schültz could see infantry's problem, but his cannons could do little to help. The farmhouse was blocking both their view and line of fire. The three quick reaction regiments had taken positions and were already engaging the enemy, so they couldn't help either. The farmhouse was vital to their victory. Without it, the Dutch could easily encircle the Prussians and crush them. It looked as if the battle would be lost all because of the clever placement of a single infantry regiment.

However, Holzer, the commanding officer of the light cavalry unit that charged into the Dutch lines to enable Vasily to retreat, had other ideas. His regiment of forty-five had been reduced to twenty-seven from fierce melee fighting. They were hiding in a small grove of trees, where they could catch their breath before returning to the battle. Holzer could see the single Dutch regiment laying waste to the 111th and 70th. In between his horses and the regiment were two more Dutch infantry units. He had a plan, but it was extremely risky. Nevertheless, he rallied his men. "Brothers!" He shouted, getting their attention. "We are winning this battle! The cowardly Dutch are retreating!" He continued, and that was true. Most of the Dutch units had turned and fled. "But the fatherland requires your service once more, so we may purge these bastards from our lands. We have been called, and we shall answer!" He shouted and thrust his blade into the air. His men, who were never demoralized to begin with, were further galvanised by the short speech.

"With me!" Holzer yelled and led the charge into the first Dutch regiment in his way. The Dutch had thought that Holzer's unit had routed, and so weren't counting on a sudden cavalry charge on their flanks. The Prussians hacked and killed any Dutch soldier in their way. However, they never stopped moving to engage them. Rather, they simply cut a straight line threw the Dutch lines and continued onwards to the second regiment.

Vasily, seizing the opportunity, led his men into combat with the first Dutch regiment Holzer had already devastated to finish them off. His Russian horsemen showed no mercy to their enemies, ruthlessly hacking them to pieces and trampling them under the hooves of their steeds.

Just like before, the Prussian light cavalrymen took the second Dutch regiment by surprise, hitting them from the rear and cutting a path through straight towards their target. They smashed into the problematic Dutch infantrymen and began the massacre, cutting down the Dutchmen.

"Cease fire!" The Jäger commander ordered, not wanting to risk friendly fire. "Shift fire to the routing cowards!" He shouted and the light infantrymen quickly fired on the retreating Dutch units. The three other infantry units had suffered losses, but had begun to push the Batavians back. They caught two of the enemy regiments in a double-envelopment maneuver, with two units firing on the flanks and a central unit hitting them from the front.

Throughout the whole battle, the General had been moving his dragoon unit from the east to the west. Just as Holzer attacked, he reached the top of a small hill on the western side of the town. From there, he had a panoramic view of the battlefield. Though he hated to admit it, the only reason they were winning was because the Dutch had performed a series of mistakes. Firstly, they failed to deploy their own cannons, which were still slowly on their way to the battlefield. If the Dutch had deployed their cannons, the farmhouse the infantry were hiding in would have posed no threat. Secondly, the Dutch never launched any sort of offensive against Schültz, other than the half-hearted infantry rush. The fact that the Prussian guns could fire freely was probably the deciding factor of the battle.

Lastly, and probably the gravest mistake the Dutch had made was that they had underestimated the Prussians, thinking that they would be cowed by numerical strength alone. They never did account for Prussian tenacity. And that was their downfall. The General smiled as he saw the Prussian eagle waving proudly in the wind, while the Dutch tricolour was in tatters and heading back the way they came. Determined to not be an armchair general, he charged down the hill, saber out and pointed towards the Dutch general's own personal guard brigade. "Charge!" He roared and the dragoons rushed down the hill in a blur of silver, brown and orange.

The Dutch general counter-charged, closing the distance quickly. Within seconds, the two units made contact. The dragoons had the advantage of armor, but the Dutch horsemen had more experience in hand-to-hand combat. Steel crashed against steel as the two cavalry units struggled to gain superiority. Eventually, the Dutch were forced to retreat as their army was all but destroyed. The Batavians broke off and retreated back the way they came, along with their army. The Prussians did not give chase. That would be pushing their luck.

Discouraged, the rest of the Dutch army, including their single artillery brigade and two light cavalry units, retreated as well.

Three hours after the first cannon shots rang out, the battle was over. The Prussians made it out in better shape than the Dutch, having lost just over two hundred men, whereas the Dutch lost just slightly less than four hundred. Most of them died in the unorganized retreat as they were shot in the back by the Prussians. Bodies littered the battlefield, especially the area around the farmhouse. Some of them were in the dark blue uniform of the Prussian army, but majority were in the light blue attire of the Batavian army.

Nietzen exited the building unscathed. A day where he survived a battle was a good day by his standards, and so he found a reason to celebrate with the survivors of his unit later that day, during the night. He saluted the Prussian flag flying from the top of the farmhouse and left, a small grin on his face.

"Tell Blücher to move his army in. We cannot take another hit like this," The General said to a messenger and handed him a scroll. "Godspeed."

"Yes sir," The messenger said, saluted and mounted his horse. Then, he sped off in the direction of Brandenburg, the Prussian capital. At this point, Holzer, on foot, marched in four Dutch prisoners.

"We found these cowards hiding in the forests," The cavalry officer said with disgust. "What shall we do with them?"

The General looked deep in thought. On one hand, releasing them would improve their relationships with the other nations, in particular Austria. However, releasing the four would mean four more enemies to face in the future...He then decided on a medieval tactic. "Keep three of them, release one of them." He looked over the prisoners, then randomly pointed to one of them. Speaking in heavily accented Dutch, he said to the selected prisoner, "You will go back and tell your general we wish to release his men, on condition he forgets any plans of invasion. Do you understand?"

The Dutch soldier, not knowing how to speak the Germanic tongue of the Prussians, only nodded enthusiastically. "Good, now go." The General said in a commanding tone. The Dutchman didn't need telling twice. He ran off after his retreating army, stumbling over himself during the first few steps, but eventually able to head off at a steady pace.

Holzer shook his head. "With all due respect, they will never-"

"I know, captain." The General interrupted, much to Holzer's shock.

"But why-"

"An excuse," The general replied darkly. "It would look less damning in the history books. Tell Vasily we have another job for him."

Holzer nodded stiffly and led the remaining Dutch prisoners to the Russian captain.

The General sighed. There would be time later to worry about reputation. In fact, he would have years to do so. All that mattered to him now was to defeat the French and their allies, and restore order to the world, even if that meant utterly destroying the French nation.

After all, if the Prussians couldn't destroy them, who could?

END

So, how was it? I tried to be as descriptive as possible without boring you guys to death.

~Schizo


	2. Battle of Krakow

Well...New update. What else is there to say?

Anyway, have fun reading, enjoy it...Or not. Truthfully, I think this isn't exactly on par with the other stuff I've written, but I'll leave it up to you to decide.

Battle of Krakow

The Polish General stood atop a hill outside Krakow, looking down at the would-be battlefield. His men had set up camp behind him, near the foot of the mound of earth. He surveyed the battlefield with a critical eye. It was nearly perfect, wide, flat grasslands as far as the eye can see, with only a few minor depressions and a few small groups of trees dispersed around the area. However, he knew that whatever advantages he had, his enemy had it as well.

It had been barely a few days since the Austrians declared war on Poland, sending huge armies as an early invading force. Villages and towns caught in their path were razed and pillaged, the citizens either imprisoned or massacred. One of the armies were spotted on their way to Krakow, and General Andrzej Kajetan was determined to stop them with his elite Polish guard army.

It contained units of the army's finest, including four units of the renowned and feared guard infantry. Men fiercely loyal to both the crown and cabinet. Among the ranks of his army were also two brigades of the famous Polish Winged Hussars. Fearsome warriors in imposing armor armed with a deadly spear, meant to smash through enemy lines in a quick a devastating charge.

The rest of his army were comprised of the standard lines of infantry, light infantry and cannons. Two six-pounder horse drawn artillery pieces served as the front units, meant to keep up with the ever-changing battle, deploying and redeploying where they were needed the most. For powerful stationary artillery fire, two twelve-pounder guns were used, and they would be deployed on the hill so they could fire down upon the Austrians. If needed, they could still be moved, albeit slowly. Another important artillery piece were his six-pounder howitzers with their devastating explosive shots. They would be placed behind the infantry, firing without fear of a cavalry attack.

As an added bonus, his troops were all seasoned, save for the recently arrived replacements for the huge losses he took when repelling another Austrian offensive. Their experience would give them an important edge over the, as the spies had reported, relatively untested Austrian army.

He decided that it was time he turned in, if he wanted to be fresh while commanding troops in the heat of battle the following day. He took one more lingering look at the battlefield, the turned and headed down the hill towards the camp.

**VvVvV**

Day came all too soon for the Poles and Lithuanians. The morning air was accented with the sounds of men cleaning their weapons, wearing their clothes, the Winged Hussars putting on their heavier metallic armor with elaborate wings sprouting from the back. Corporal Wielisław Aureliusz shouldered checked himself that he had sufficient ammunition to last the coming battle. He shouldered his musket and walked out his tent, joining his unit, the 23rd Skirmisher Regiment, one of the five light infantry units.

"Assemble!" The captain of the 5th Skirmisher Regiment, in command of all light infantry regiments, shouted. The men immediately rushed to form up in their lines, muskets shouldered, chests out and body straight. Their unit commanders moved up and down their ranks to check that everything was perfect. "We're going to be at the center of the formation. We will be in loose formation. Hide in the grass and wait for the command to shoot." The captain shouted the orders.

"Yes sir!" The men replied in one voice. They had swapped out their dark red uniforms for olive green and dirt brown coloured clothes, the same clothes they wore when they were hunters in the fringes of the Polish-Lithuanian commonwealth.

"Dismissed," The Captain said and returned to the unit he commanded. "And good luck out there!"

All around them, the army was in a frenzy as they tried as fast as they could to move troops and cannons into position. "Let's move, let's move!" An infantry unit commander shouted to his 120-men strong regiment. "Those Austrians aren't going to wait for us to start the battle, so get moving!"

"I'm moving as fast as I can," Private Alojzy Zdzisław griped under his breath as he moved as one with his unit. He had reasons to be upset, as he was at the front line of his three row deep unit. Those in the front usually had a low survival rate. There were even stories of how entire 60-man long rows were completely wiped out. His unit quickly climbed over the low hill and down the other side. A horse artillery brigade galloped past them. Unsurprisingly, they arrived at their position faster than the infantry. By the time the regiments reached their positions beside them, the guns were already ready and waiting.

The formation was simple, but effective. The light infantry regiments took the center, crouched low in the grass to stay hidden from the Austrians. The horse artillery were positioned on both flanks, with two battalions of four infantry regiments on each side. The Guards infantry were placed behind the light infantry, with strict orders to hold fire until redeployment.

Two companies of one Winged Hussars brigade and one light dragoons brigade took both flanks, the light dragoons role being harassment of the enemy. They would ride out, shoot at the Austrians while mounted on their steeds, then rush out of range before the enemy even registered that they were under attack. If they got too close, the Winged Hussars would mount one of their deadly charges.

One howitzer unit was placed behind each infantry battalion, providing artillery support for them. The General himself sat on the top of the hill with his bodyguards between the twelve-pounder guns. The plan was simple, so simple it borderlined on insulting the intelligence of the Austrians. The idea was that the enemy would be attracted by the seemingly defenseless Guard infantry and make a charge there in an effort to wipe out the elite first. The light infantry would open fire the minute the enemy were in range, mowing down enemy troops.

Then, depending on what the enemy did, they would either pull back and the guards would reinforce the flanks, or they would go prone and allow the guards to shoot over their heads. Then, the flanking battalions would either move out to engage enemy troops, or if they were lucky, simply turn and trap the enemy in a bowl shape.

The scene was set, now all the Poles and Lithuanians had to do was to wait.

Andrzej squinted as he studied the horizon. The Austrians should be showing around now. If he was wrong...Well, chances are they would have razed and pillaged another unfortunate town or village before he managed to redeploy his forces to meet them. A small gust of wind momentarily rustled the trees and caused the grass to sway. Andrzej looked at the sky. Dark clouds were gathering over the battlefield. He cursed his luck. If it rained, the chances of his men's flintlock weapons malfunctioning were higher.

Making a decision, he whispered to one of his men, "Tell the dragoons to scout the area ahead. Tell them to make themselves unknown to the enemy."

"Yes sir," The man replied and galloped down the hill to relay the orders. Andrzej hoped that the dragoons would be able to reach the enemy lines, get an approximate of their numbers and return to them without any trouble. Best case scenario is that his plan works. Worse case is that he gets a brigade of sixty men and their horses killed. He watched dispassionately as the mounted infantry galloped towards the enemy lines. Or where they were supposed to be.

Tense moments passed as the men waited impatiently for the enemy to show up. For Wielisław, it was an all too unfamiliar. He was used to stalking his prey when he hunted in the forests back at his village. Waiting for the enemy to appear was not something he enjoyed, and he knew every other light infantryman there felt the same. He shifted uncomfortably as he crouched low in the grass, musket gripped tightly with both hands. He saw the dragoons return. It was a good sign. Their quick return meant that the enemy was close, and it would be soon before combat began.

Andrzej listened closely as the messenger relayed what the dragoons reported. The news was good. The Austrian army had a numerical advantage, but was cannon-wise disadvantaged, with their ranks made up of mainly line infantry, and apparently even a few lines of militia to augment them. For artillery, they had two brigades of twelve-pounder cannons, and two faster, but noticeably weaker, three-pounder horse artillery units. As far as the dragoons knew, they didn't have any light infantry units. Cavalry were composed of just three regiments of the deadly Hungarian hussars. Fearsome as they were, Andrzej found that a cannonball was often the easiest deterrent to the light cavalrymen.

"We have maybe twenty seconds before they're in range of the twelve-pounders," The messenger reported. Andrzej nodded, pleased with the news. With luck, they would rout and destroy the Austrian army before it rained. The General counted down the seconds mentally. He could see the dust kicked up by the Austrian horsemen. The cannon gunners knew what to do. Without waiting for an order, they turned their guns to face the general direction of the enemy army, lit the fuse, covered their ears and waited for the resounding booms.

Alojzy heard the report of the cannons, and gritted his teeth. That meant the enemy was getting close. Closing his eyes momentarily, he banished all his fears of death and injury from his mind, keeping himself focused on only three things: Reloading, aiming and firing. _Nothing __to worry about, _He told himself. _In an hour or so, you'll be back at camp having a hot meal and some rest._

The light infantrymen tensed. All idle chatter ceased as every man looked up in front of them, scanning the area for any signs of the enemy. Suddenly, the six-pounder cannons beside them opened fire. It was only a matter of time before the Austrians got close enough.

The cannonballs did their job, wiping out whole rows of Austrian cavalrymen. The charge was slowed down, but not stopped. The infantry quickened their pace, guessing that the chances of them getting smashed into a pulp by a cannonball was lesser if they were constantly on the move. The Hungarian hussars reformed while the cannons were reloading and immediately charged forward, not wasting anytime.

The trap was working, almost too perfectly. The cavalry had failed to see the Polish-Lithuanian light infantry crouching low in the tall grass and decided to eliminate the guard units first. Wielisław sighted his prey. He preferred that word to 'target'. It made him feel more comfortable when shooting. He stood up, along with the rest of his unit. An instant later, sixty muskets discharged, killing scores of the hussars. The cavalry, after losing nearly a third of their number, turned and ran, smashing into their allies and breaking up their formation in their rush to retreat.

The cannons roared again, adding fear to the already confused Austrian army. Alojzy saw five units of infantry rush his battalion. He assumed they were militia, since they seemed to be in disarray and any good infantryman would certainly think twice before charging towards units covered by a howitzer. The short-barrel guns lobbed shells high into the air. They flew in a gentle curve before impacting the ground in the middle of the militia formation, detonating and throwing shrapnel everywhere. The screams of men ripped to shreds could even be heard by Alojzy and his unit.

"Ready!" The commander shouted. The infantrymen raised their rifles and leveled them. The militia were getting closer, seemingly unfazed by their losses. Then again, it was a logical move as well. The closer they got to the Polish-Lithuanian troops, the harder it was for the howitzers to fire without incurring friendly losses. "Fire!" The commander shouted and pointed his officer's sabre towards the enemy.

Sixty guns discharged, shrouding the troops in a cloud of smoke. Most of the bullets failed to hit anything, due to the distance between them and the Austrians. Those that did stopped their targets cold, either killing them or wounding them. The commonwealth troops quickly reloaded their weapons. The commander repeated the orders and they opened fire again, killing several more enemy troops. "Fire at will!" The commander ordered.

The light dragoons did their job, riding out quickly towards any Austrian unit suspected of reforming for an attack and opening fire. Their ability to reload and fire on the move proved to be their greatest advantage. By the time the Austrians reacted, the dragoons were long gone. When the Austrians turned to face another enemy, the dragoons returned.

The cycle continued until the Austrians took the hint, broke ranks and retreated for good.

Wielisław's unit came under fire from Austrian lines of infantry that got too close. Too late for any sort of organized retreat, they did the one other thing they could do. They went prone, or simply crouched extremely low, aiming up at the Austrians. This allowed the elite Guard units to open fire. A torrent of bullets impacted on the enemy. Scores of men fell.

However, on the flanks, the same was happening to Alojzy and his unit. The Austrian militia somehow managed to get into formation while under heavy fire from both canister shots from a six-pounder artillery unit and four infantry units. The man next to Alojzy fell, but he didn't notice, as he was too busy reloading his musket and firing. They were getting nowhere, and doing seemingly nothing. Another volley struck his unit. For a second, his heart nearly stopped beating. A bullet whizzed past his ear, so close he swore it left a scar. Luckily, the round struck the unfortunate man behind him. There would be time to mourn the loss later, but for now he had to focus on his job.

The Austrians, thinking that it would be much easier if they overwhelmed the western flank first seeing as it was already taking a beating, deployed two more units of infantry to reinforce those fighting there. Quickly, those units marched towards their positions while under cannon and howitzer fire.

Or, they would have, had those units not been ambushed by the winged hussars in a sudden charge. The lancers smashed into one of the the line of infantry's left flank, their spears impaling men and the combined weight of the rider, the armor he wore and the horse sending men flying. The infantrymen's bayonets did little good against the metal plate armor of the hussars. The other unit adopted a square formation, but was unwilling to shoot as the chance of friendly fire was much too high. At that exact moment, an explosive shell landed and detonated in the middle of their formation, causing high casualties and fatalities.

"Their distracted! Charge!" The commonwealth battalion commander roared. The Austrian militia units were for a split second torn between what to do. Either they continued to focus on the infantry, which would open them to cavalry attacks, or they could retrain their focus onto the winged hussars, and expose themselves to the infantry. It was just a matter of choosing their poison.

The commonwealth troops took advantage of their indecision to mount a swift bayonet charge. They closed the distance quickly, all the while screaming at the top of their lungs. The two lines met, but the Polish-Lithuanians had the element of surprise on their sides. Alojzy stabbed with his bayonet equipped musket, stabbing an Austrian soldier in the chest. He pulled his weapon out and swung it low, sweeping another enemy soldier off his feet. Without missing a beat, he stepped over the soldier and ruthlessly stabbed the poor man in the throat, killing him instantly.

Wielisław's unit fired off another salvo, their well-aimed shots finding their targets, with the exception of a few. The central Austrian assault was stopped cold. The Guards lived up to their name, calmly and coolly firing volley after volley despite incurring heavy losses, up to half the unit for some of them. The six-pounders opened fire, sending cannonballs into the dense Austrian formation, each of the six cannonballs killing several men.

Alojzy ducked to avoid an attack, then jabbed randomly with his weapon. It found a target. He looked up and saw that he had stabbed his attacker in the thigh, severing the femoral artery. Blood flowed freely from the wound as the Austrian screamed in pain and fell to the ground. A swift strike to the back of the neck with the butt of Alojzy's musket finished him off. He rounded on the next target, slashing the man's throat wide open with the bayonet. His enemy went down with a gurgle, clutching his neck.

Suddenly, Alojzy felt a weird sensation spread over his body. It was a feeling both painful and cold at the same time. He hands flew to his stomach and came away dripping with blood. It took him a while to register what had happened and when he did, he gasped and sank to his knees, dropping his weapon. He collapsed on the grass in a widening puddle of his own blood. _All will be fine.._ He thought weakly. _It'll..Be..Fine. _He tried to get back on his feet but couldn't. He could only look up and see his attacker getting the living daylights smashed out of him by his brothers-in-arms. He gave a weak smile, then closed his eyes.

**VvVvV**

Wielisław and his unit walked through the battlefield, muskets in hand and their feet prodding the dead to make sure they were dead. The battle was over, a mere hour after it began. The Austrians decided that they were taking too much losses and had retreated. The commonwealth army had lost a rather significant number of troops, but they could still repel another attack if needed. In total, nearly a hundred and fifty lives were lost, most of them from the close quarters combat endured by the western flank. The cavalry got out relatively unscathed, losing only a few men per unit from musket fire during their charges. Or in the case of the dragoons, when they couldn't get out in time.

The Guards were also hit hard, but they would recover. That's what they did. They fought, they took losses, and they would fight the next day if they had to. Wielisław's unit took light losses. The enemy simply weren't used to enemies shooting at them from below. The artillery brigades were the only ones that got out unscathed. That was not to say they were cowards. Without their crucial support, the battle would never have been won.

_That was close..If it wasn't for __Mieczysław and his hussars..And the Dragoons... _Wielisław recalled the final moments of the battle. The western battalion was on the verge of the breaking point, but luckily, the hussars made one last devastating charge straight into the flanks of the Austrians. At the same time, the light dragoons also joined the melee, hitting the enemy from the other flank.

The Austrians, having already taken heavy losses from the bayonet fight, broke ranks and tried to flee, but the dragoons easily caught up to them and cut them down.

Wielisław prodded one of the many bodies on the western flank with his boot. He wasn't expecting any sort of response, and was thus surprised when the body groaned. Noticing that it was in a dark red uniform, he waved two other men from his unit over. That was the first living thing they had encountered besides each other since they were assigned the duty of finishing off enemies pretending to be dead and recovering wounded commonwealth soldiers.

He knelt down beside the wounded soldier and examined his wounds. A bayonet stab wound in the abdomen. Wielisław shook his head. The man was lucky it wasn't a stab followed by a slash. The thin bayonets produced deep but small wounds. Blood loss immediately occurred to Wielisław and he looked around, trying to find something to stop the bleeding with. He grabbed a blood soaked coat of an Austrian corpse and placed it over the man's wound. He applied pressure to try to stop the bleeding. The man opened his eyes and coughed.

Wielisław smiled at him. "Don't worry, my friend! You're going to be fine!" He said happily as the two other light infantrymen arrived with a stretcher. Wielisław tied the coat tightly around the wound and allowed his comrades to place the man on the stretcher. Then, he got back to work, trying to find the living out of a field of dead.

On the stretcher, a thin, weak smile spread over Alojzy's face as he stared up at the sky. It was the brightest and prettiest blue he had ever seen, with white clouds floating lazily across it. It looked completely out of place, such a peaceful and beautiful scene over a patch of earth where a bloody battle had taken place.

Alojzy smiled again.

_I knew I would be okay._

END

Review please? =)

~Schizo


	3. Siege Breaking

Hey, it's the third installment! Sorry for the delay, I wanted to do a Medieval II: Total war one but I had to get an idea first.

All right, this might be really sensitive to some, so lemme get this out first: I am not bashing, or offending an religion here. It's all in the name of writing and author's imagination. So don't kill me.

Anyway, enjoy.

Siege breaking

It was a religious war unlike any other. The medieval war was thrown into chaos, with every nation in perpetual war with each other for nearly ten years. Europe and Asia had been split into three main powerful alliances. The Papal States led the Catholic nations of England, France, the Holy Roman Empire, Spain, Portugal, Poland, Hungary and Denmark.

In the east, Kievan Rus and the Byzantine Empire allied with each other, being the only Orthodox nations in the known world. Though their armies were terribly outnumbered, the Russians of Kievan Rus had the advantage of the horrendously cold winters of Russia and their extensive land to fall back upon. The Byzantines easily had one of the most powerful navies of the world and could easily land troops wherever they wanted, unopposed.

In the middle east and northern Africa, the Moors, Egyptians, Turks, Timurids and Mongols formed a massive, powerful and advanced alliance. They had the advantage of surprise and nature was on their side. For any nation to invade their lands, they had to cross the Mediterranean, except for the Byzantines, who shared a common border with the Turks. Also, almost none of the European powers had been in combat with the Middle Eastern and Asian powers, and so had no idea of their capabilities.

All three alliances were against each other. However, during the ten years of warfare, little had changed. The borders had not moved an inch despite all the bloodshed. The holy crusade against Jerusalem led by the Papal States had stalled outside the city walls, the defending Egyptians refusing the surrender. Aside from the little expedition, the Middle Eastern powers were completely unscathed.

However, unknown to any of the two other alliances, the Middle Eastern powers were building up and mobilizing their forces. The Timurids and Mongols had began moving their forces westwards, the Mongols heading for the Byzantine-Turkish border and the Timurid forces heading to aid the besieged Egyptians at Jerusalem.

Now, General Javed Baraz of the Timurid Dynasty and his army crested a sand dune, looking down at the desert plains around Jerusalem. The crusading Papal army had surrounded the city. Baraz wasn't stupid. He knew that if the Pope had dared to send a force to aid the crusades, there had to be a stronger, foreign army backing them up. His bet was that it was either an English or French army, since Baraz had heard from Turkish spies that Poland, Hungary, and the Holy Roman Empire was busy with the Russians. Also, the Moors reported that Portugal and Spain had dedicated large amounts of troops against them.

_Hmm...Maybe we should head there next._ Baraz mused absentmindedly, then shifted his attention back to the task at hand. They were to aid the Egyptians by mounting an attack on the Papal army. Another Egyptian army would handle the English. The Timurid General studied the scene. The opposing army was not exactly formidable, but Baraz would only judge when they were in combat. The Papal army was composed on mainly dismounted Chivalric knights, along with a handful of Italian militia, armored sergeants and Pavise crossbowmen to augment them. The only thing that concerned Baraz were the large number of Papal guard units in the army. If what he heard was right, they were fierce, fanatical and generally dangerous foes.

Still, he believed that his numerically superior army would easily crush them. He had four units of Sabadar militia, archers skilled in both ranged and hand-to-hand combat. The bulk of his army comprised of dismounted heavy lancers. As deadly on foot as they were on horses. For cavalry, he had two units of Mongol heavy horse archers and the Khan's guard each. The Khan had given Baraz command of two units of the royal guard cavalry as a victory at Jerusalem would open them up to Egyptian ports. And from there, an invasion of Europe would follow.

Now, all Baraz had to do was to wait for the Egyptian messenger. The two armies had to attack at the same time, otherwise either of the enemy armies could easily reinforce each other and repel the attacks. In the meantime, the general arranged his troops. He moved them up and down the sand dune, placing them in extreme arrow shot of the Papal army, but still out of sight.

The Sabadar militia stood at the front, with orders to fall back should the Papal army rush to meet them. Behind the archers stood the heavy lancers, placed in one long continuous row in order to quickly counter an attack anywhere. The cavalry units took the flanks, one heavy archer unit and one guard unit per flank.

Baraz was behind the dismounted lancers. His own bodyguard would act as a reserve, in case one of his flanks would break. If that happened, he would personally lead his bodyguards in an attack to repel the enemy.

The Egyptian messenger arrived soon enough, the hooded rider reaching the general and telling him that the Egyptian army was marching to battle. Baraz nodded and dismissed the messenger. He promptly began his journey back to his own lines. The Timurid general looked over the enemy. They were still relaxed, not knowing of the terrible storm that would soon be unleashed on them.

_Perfect._ He thought with a thin smile, and without any hesitation, gave the order for the attack to commence.

**VvVvV**

Navid Sharihya heard the shout of his general for the attack to begin. He stood in the third row of his Sabadar unit, and so had to aim high to avoid hitting his friends in the second row. He pulled the arrow back as far as he could and released it. Hundreds of arrows flew into the sky before slowly arching down upon the Papal army. They never saw it coming. In an instant, the projectiles rained on them, killing anyone who wasn't in a tent or under some sort of shelter.

Navid could hear the shouts of confusion, which only proved how close they were to the enemy. He readied another arrow and waited for his friends to load their weapons. In order for their attack to be successful, they had to fire a whole barrage. Individually, arrows fired form such an extreme range rarely did any good.

Another barrage followed, barely seconds after the first wave struck. The Italians had no idea where they were being attacked from, but Navid doubted it would stay that way for long. The Italians were still gathering their troops when the third barrage impacted.

"Use fire!" the general yelled, loud enough to be heard by all the archers. They reached for a quiver slung on their hips, this one containing cloth-covered arrows. A torch was passed down the lines, allowing each archer to light the tips of their arrows on fire. The loaded their weapons, pulled the string taut and released the deadly projectile. However, a torch had to be passed down the lines every time they reloaded in a time consuming process, and so they couldn't produce the same volume of fire as they did with unlit arrows.

But, the slow reload was more then compensated by the damage the flaming arrows caused. Once they struck a tent, it was immediately consumed in flames, dooming anyone inside to a fiery death unless they got out in time. And also they lit anyone struck by it on fire, provided they were not wearing plate armor like the chivalric knights. That made it useful as a psychological weapon as well. No one liked to see their brother-in-arms dying a slow and painful death.

At last, the Papal army saw their attackers, a patch of black and grey standing out among the brown sands of the desert. The crossbowmen were the first to move, taking up positions to open fire with their powerful crossbows. The Timurid archers shifted their sights to the enemy missile infantry. A rain of arrows descended on them, killing the unprepared crossbowmen. Had their backs been turned, the shield strapped to them would have protected them from harm, but the barrage of arrows took them completely by surprise.

"Douse your flames, hit them as fast as you can!" The General ordered. Navid and his unit switched back to the arrows contained in the quiver strapped to their backs. Another torrent of arrows was released.

However, the Papal crossbowmen had gotten into position and opened fire with their powerful weapons. The man next to Navid went down with a scream as a bolt penetrated his light armor and killed him. Navid froze for a moment, stricken with fear. As an archer, deaths were rare as they were rarely deployed to places where they would take casualties. Then, he shook his head, clearing it. _I must steel myself, _He told himself. _Then I can avenger his death._

The Mongol horse archers didn't need any ordering. They saw that the Sabadar militia were in trouble and quickly rode out to harass the enemy crossbowmen before their melee infantry got into position to protect them. The cavalrymen rode swiftly before releasing the reins of their horses, standing up slightly and opening fire. The arrows flew straight and true, striking the crossbowmen in their unprotected sides. The quickly reloaded before firing again.

The crossbowmen were losing too much men for them to operate efficiently. Quickly, they withdrew, not routing, but simply withdrawing to wait for the opportunity to strike again, allowing the melee infantry to advance and attack. The horse archers fired a single volley, this one aimed at the Papal guards which were at the front, before retreating back to Timurid lines. Their arrows thinned out the guard unit's lines.

Navid silently thanked the Mongol archers. He loaded another arrow, aimed slightly lower now that his targets were slightly lower and released the projectile. The arrows bounced off the metal armor of the knights and Papal guards, with a few lucky hits in the unprotected heads of the guards. The majority of the arrows were aimed at the lightly armored Italian militia, killing scores of men. This prompted the Papal army to quicken their pace, charging straight for the Timurids.

The Sabadar, seeing that the enemy was much too close for comfort, quickly ran behind the heavy lancers, who were bracing for the coming impact. The knights and guards were the first to meet the wall of spears, the unlucky ones impaling themselves on the weapons. The lancers pulled their weapons out of the corpses and entered open combat.

Shahin Ardarshir ducked to avoid the sword of a knight, then pushed hard with his small round shield, knocking his enemy back, the swung low with his spear, knocking the knight off his feet. He took three big steps forward and plunged his spear into the neck of the the enemy soldier, the one weak point of the suit of armor. He raised his shield, blocking a chop to his head and stabbed forward blindly with his spear. His attacker jumped back, dodging the attack. Shahin looked up, and saw that his attacker was another knight. He swung to the side, avoiding a stab to his stomach and lashed out with the blunt end of his spear, catching the knight in the head. Before his opponent could recover, Shahin stabbed his weapon straight into the neck of the knight, just like before.

The archers continued firing, aiming for the mass of Papal troops that had yet to enter combat. Arrows fell on them, killing dozens, and yet they kept coming. The armored sergeants and militia pushed forward, making the crush even worse on the knights. They were pressed so tightly against one another that they barely had room to raise their arms to attack. This was made worse by the rapid attacks made by the Timurid lancers. Despite their name, the Heavy Lancers weren't exactly clothed in heavy armor. After all, there was only so much weight a horse could take. The faster, more maneuverable lancers easily avoided the slow attacks of the fatigued knights.

Also, nature was on their side. The hot afternoon sun of the desert baked the earth, and the metal suits of armor the knights wore acted like a personal oven. The heat was unbearable and stifling, making their breathing difficult. Every swing, lunge or chop they did drained their dwindling strength, making them easy kills for the lancers, who had grown up in the desert, and was thus more or less immune to the heat.

The armored sergeants took the place of the dead knights, fighting tooth and nail with their large shields and spears. However, they suffered the same shortcomings as the knight, though not as serious, as their helmets didn't have faceplates and so they had an easier time breathing. Shahin blocked a stab and pushed back, temporarily stunning the sergeant. The Timurid warrior wasted no time and closed in on his enemy, swinging his shield in a wide arc. The thin edge of the shield smashed into the neck of the sergeant, breaking the neck and crushing the windpipe.

The lancer turned around quickly and jabbed his spear high, catching another sergeant in the face, without missing a beat, he kicked the body away and swung it in a wide arc around him, forcing several enemy soldiers back. Around him, his comrades yelled a war cry as they began to push the Papal army back to their camp. The Pavise crossbowmen of the Christian army could do little. Either they fired indiscriminately and killed their own friends along with some of the enemy, or they did nothing. They chose the latter, as killing an ally was considered a crime in the army. They were far away from the battle, taking up positions on a sand dune, believing it to be safe.

Their safety was not to last. The guard horses of the Timurids were dispatched to hunt down the crossbowmen and ensure they were no longer a threat. Leaving unseen, they trotted at a brisk pace towards the sand dune where the enemy were. Once they were in range, they lowered their lances and charged forward, one unit taking them from both flanks, trapping the crossbowmen in the middle of a bloody melee, the one thing they were unprepared for.

White-uniformed troops were trampled underneath the hooves of the horses or were stabbed clean through by the sharp and deadly lances. The weight of the horses and their riders combined also crushed some of the enemy soldiers. The crossbowmen had enough and tried to escape. A few of them managed to find their way out of the melee and run towards the English army, not knowing that they were being driven away from the walls by an Egyptian army.

Those who failed to run away were massacred. Once the last soldier fell, the cavalrymen turned around. The enemy might be being driven back, but they still had a lot of depth to their army, only a small portion were facing the Timurids at any one time. The guard horses decided to put a change to that. They set off towards the enemy's rear.

Arrows flew into the melee from all directions. Those that fell from above into the rearguard of the enemy were fired by the Sabadar militia. Those from the sides were fired by the Mongol horse archers. The enemy wasn't going to hold out any longer. They quickly broke off contact, running back to their camp to take up a more defensive position with their depleted army. Shahin and the rest of the lancers quickly gave chase, yelling at the top of their lungs with the most fearsome expression of their faces they could muster.

They made contact with the retreating knights and sergeants. The Italian militia, being lighter armored, managed to run away faster than the rest of their army. Shahin stabbed his spear into the chest of the first sergeant he encountered. Around him, the Timurids smashed into the enemy, killing anyone that stood in their way. Shahin used the end of his spear to smash an enemy in the ribs, forcing him to turn, then twisted his spear around and stabbed him under the arm. The spear entered and exited through the neck. He pulled the weapon out, just in time to parry a blow from a knight.

Navid readied another arrow and opened fire with the rest of his unit. After the lancers had advanced, they had received orders to move location to one of the sand dunes facing the western flank of the enemy. They crouched low on the small mound of sand and opened fire with deadly accuracy. They were running out of arrows, but it didn't worry them. Unlike the European archers they had faced before, they were well versed in the art of hand-to-hand combat with their axes and short swords.

The guard horses stood sentinel some distance away from the camp, waiting for the enemy to come to them, rather than they go to the enemy. Once the retreating militia were within charging range, they rushed forward, lances level and ready. The militia saw the horses advancing on them and tried to run the other way, but they only ran into the comrades. Within seconds, the horses made contact. The militia took heavy losses as their light armor did little to protect them from the powerful weapons of the Timurid guardsmen.

Shahin swept low, catching a knight in the knee and knocking him down to a kneeling position. Before he had time to get back up, a spear end smashed into his head and forced him face down into the sand. Shahin then stabbed the weapon down viciously on the back of the neck. By this time, the Papal army was in full retreat, trying to escape to English lines. Very few resisted, more concentrated on running away.

Shahin saw a Papal soldier, dressed in fancy gold-trimmed armor and armed with a beautiful, ornate sword seemingly shouting at his men. The soldier stabbed a Timurid through the chest, killing him instantly. It was obvious the soldier was the general of the army, and he was only a few paces away from Shahin. He pushed his way through the retreating enemy, killing only those who resisted. Those who ran would be massacred by the Egyptians anyway.

Shahin surprised the General with a swift strike to the side of the head with the edge of his shield. The General recovered quickly and chopped downwards with his sword, but Shahin blocked it and slid out to the side, swinging his spear hard into the chest of the General. Though the armor protected the Papal officer from the edge of the weapon, it still knocked the breath out of him and cause him to stagger back. Shahin swept his spear low and toppled the General. Knowing that a live General was of more use than a dead one, he knocked the officer out cold with a few strikes to the head with the blunt end of his spear. They would pick him up later, after the battle. He ran forward with the rest of his unit, running down the routing enemy.

It was over. The entire Papal army had routed after losing more than half their number. The Timurids only lost a small fraction of their men, maybe two hundred or even as low as only a hundred men, most of them lost during the melee fight and the initial attack by the crossbowmen.

Shahin breathed a sigh of relief as the last of the Papal army ran away, turned the corner at the edge of the city walls, expecting to find safety with the English army. However, all they found was death by the victorious Egyptian army.

**VvVvV**

Navid walked carefully through the mass of dead bodies. It turned out that there were less Timurid fatalities than previously thought. Most of them were wounded, and only a handful had wounds that ended their military careers. The rest would heal and return to the fight. His unit was searching for any living enemy nobility or anyone worth ransoming.

"Archer!" He heard someone call out. Navid turned around and saw a lancer walking towards him, looking slightly confused. "Have you seen a Papal officer around here? I knocked him out during the fight and now I'm trying to look for him."

Navid shook his head. "I can help your search, if you'd like."

The lancer smiled. "Many thanks." He extended a hand. "Shahin Ardarshir." He introduced. Navid shook his hand firmly.

"Navid Sharihya," He said and tilted his head towards the mass of dead bodies on the field. "Shall we begin the search?" He asked. Shahin nodded and the two moved through the dead bodies slowly, trying to find a single soldier out of the hundreds that were dead. One of the archers found a Papal noble playing dead and forced him to his feet, directing him back to Timurid lines with his sword.

Navid looked down. The empty eyes of the dead looked back up at him. He shuddered slightly. Despite being a veteran of several battles, he was still shaken by the sight of dead people. He used his feet to gently nudge the bodies, making sure they were dead. He moved down the field, heading towards the ex-Papal camp. The glint of a shiny object, standing out from the other reflective items due to the yellowish hue caught his eye. He moved closer towards it, and found out that it was an ornate, beautifully decorated sword.

He picked it up and tested it's weight. It was perfectly balanced. _This will make a good tribute to the General for delivering us this victory. _He thought.

"What's that?" The friendly yet gruff voice of the General asked. _Speak of the devil._ Navid commented to himself and turned around. Despite the huge difference in rank, the archer didn't fear the General. He had been with Baraz from the time the General was just a small officer in charge of several archer units, and so were good friends.

Navid dropped to a knee, looked down at the ground and presented the sword to the General. "A gift, sir, for the victory you have led us to." He said in a voice full of respect.

"Keep it, or give it to someone else," The General replied and pulled Navid to his feet. "My friend, I have enough of these things. You told me you have a brother interested in fighting. Give to him instead." He suggested with a smile.

"I would, but I don't trust the caravans..."

The General looked deep in thought. "Very well, pass it to me. I'm going back to the capital in a few days time. I will pass it to him then. Same place?"

"Y-Yes sir!" Navid replied excitedly and saluted. "Thank you sir!" He bowed.

"No need to thank me," The General replied humbly. "If it weren't for soldiers like you, I wouldn't have been able to add this victory to my growing list."

Shahin suddenly appeared, running towards the pair. "Sir!" He saluted, panting when he saw the General. Baraz motioned for him to be at ease. The lancer looked at Navid. "You found the sword!" He exclaimed, then before Navid could reply, crouched and dragged a Papal soldier, clad in ornate and expensive-looking armor to his feet.

"Up!" Shahin growled and roughly removed the helmet.

"Infidels," The Papal officer spat. "God will punish you for this."

Baraz took the Papal officer roughly from Shahin. "Your god isn't here." He motioned for two archers and they walked towards him. "Take him away." He ordered them. The archers bowed slightly before each of them took an arm of the officer each and dragged the man away. Baraz looked back to Navid and Shahin. "Who wounded him?"

"I, sir," Shahin said proudly.

"And you found him?" Baraz asked Navid. The archer nodded slightly. "Good, this will aid us greatly in our effort to drive these invaders away from out lands." He said, then continued, "I'm giving you two four days of rest as reward. Spend it any way you like. Any questions?" The two men were too stunned to even say anything and merely shook their heads. Baraz had a reputation for being a nice and caring General to his men, but they never thought he would be as nice as this.

The General walked away. Shahin looked at Navid. Navid looked at Shahin. Both had a blank look on their faces, but that slowly turned into a smile. "Well done, friend." Navid said and patted Shahin on the back.

"You too, you too." Shahin replied with a chuckled as the two made their way back to camp.

END

Eh, sorry for the crappy titles, I'm not too good at them. Reviews will be appreciated! Thanks.

END


End file.
